


Before

by AngelsAvengeMe



Series: Moments [3]
Category: James Bond (Craig movies), James Bond (Movies), James Bond - All Media Types
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Insecurity, James Bond Takes Care of Q, M/M, Mentions of Past Drunk Driving, Past Abuse, Past Child Abuse, Scars
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-09
Updated: 2020-07-09
Packaged: 2021-03-05 02:33:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25167022
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AngelsAvengeMe/pseuds/AngelsAvengeMe
Summary: Q gets a call from his estranged father. James deals with the repercussions.
Relationships: James Bond/Q
Series: Moments [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/30791
Comments: 4
Kudos: 81





	Before

**Author's Note:**

> There's mentions of past child abuse but it's not explicit or described in any real detail.

_It’s like all the wallpaper inside my heart_

_Is slowly slowly peeling off_

_And I’m showing_

_All thestainsand things_

_They wroteon the wall before_

\- The Amazing Devil, “ _Two Minutes_ ”

“Q?”

He doesn’t budge, not that that’s a big surprise. By the state he’s in—his skin cool to the touch, hair ruffled from the sharp breeze—he hasn’t budged for the last hour at least.

Gently, he takes the ceramic tea cup from between his curled fingers, it too now chilled, and sets it on the side table beside him next to his glasses and cellphone. Q doesn’t even so much as twitch. His eyes, normally so full of inquisitive life and wonderment, are now dulled and unseeing as they look out into the bustling night cityscape.

He kneels down beside him, caressing the side of his face with a feather-light touch. “Q?”

This time, Q comes back to him, though it’s slow and in jagged pieces.

“James?”

He presses a kiss to the side of his head, right above his ear. Q lets out a stuttering breath, like the simple action—one James had done many times now over the years they’ve been together—has overwhelmed him. “I’m here, love.”

Q grabs him and holds him close, his forehead immediately finding its usual spot between James’ neck andshoulder, his thin arms squeezing him like he was buoy amongst restless waves. Maybe he was in this moment.

They sit like this for a long time, even though the angle must be uncomfortable for Q’s back and definitely is for James’ protesting knees, before Q speaks. It’s so quiet, so unsure and tremulous, that a deep protective instinct flares bright inside him. “Am I a burden?”

A violent urge to not just kill but destroy whoever put such a notion in Q’s head and heart overtakes him for a brief moment. In the breath it takes to get ahold of himself, Q pulls away and is on his feet and back inside their apartment before James can stop him.

“Q—”

He ignores him, beelining straight for the front door. But James is quick when he wants to be—has to be—and has a grip on Q’s arm before the genius’s shaky hands can reach the doorknob. What James isn’t prepared for though is the full body jolt that morphs into a cower when he does. He lets go, like he’s touched a live wire, and immediately backs away several paces, his hands up where they’re clearly visible.

He may have never experienced such a reaction from Q before, but he knows, with such a sharp pain in the very fibre of his being, what it means.

He watches as Q shakes from head to toe, his breathing erratic and shallow, eyes clamped shut as he grips their little front hall table trying to force himself to calm down. James doesn’t dare move forward to comfort him, though he wants nothing more, for fear he’d only make it worse.

Finally, after what seems like an eternity, Q speaks. “I’m sorry, I—I don’t know what came over me.” He opens his eyes. They’re glistening.

James swears being stabbed hurts less than this.

“You have nothing to be sorry for, Q. I shouldn’t have grabbed you like that.”

Q shakes his head, his shoulders slumping as he turns away to face the door again. James’ heart shoots into his throat. He couldn’t still be thinking of leaving, could he?

“You didn’t let me answer before,” he says. Q tenses but doesn’t move. Taking it as a sign that it’s okay to continue, he shuffles closer, making sure to stay off to the side so he’s in Q’s peripheral vision at all times. “You aren’t a burden, Q. You never have been.” He’s three feet from him now, but he dares not step closer. He wants Q to decide what happens next, physically, at least. “You’re a gift, in my eyes. One I cherish more than anything in this world. I’m sorry I made you think otherwise.”

Q’s shoulders shake as he moves a hand up to his face, no doubt trying to muffle any noise he might make. It takes every ounce of will powerJames has to not move closer, to hold him in his arms and soothe the hurt as best he can. To shield him from all the evil that lurks in every corner of the world. But, if there was one thing he knew, it was that you couldn’t save someone from the scar tissue that had accumulated on their hearts and on their minds, you could only try and make sure no more grew.

“My father called.”

“Q…” It comes out in a rush of breath. They weren’t ones to talk about their families often. As far as he knew, very few people in MI6 had someone more than an estranged relative or two, or a secret lover—it’s how they were able to get their jobs done so effectively—so talking about their families was not often a thought that crossed their minds as a topic of conversation. Yet, there was still one other time Q had brought up his family that he could remember.

It was back when they were freshly involved, everything still sparkly and exciting in a way two souls recently uniting often was. They’d been lying in bed, silk sheets curled around their naked forms as they held each other, Q’s head laying against his chest, eyelids fluttering as he valiantly fought sleep. James had been drawing shapes along his upper back when he’d brushed his index finger over an old scar along his shoulder blade. He’d been curious, of course, but he hadn’t been inclined to ask Q about its origin. He knew the horrific backstories even the most innocuous of old wounds could hold; a Pandora’s Box waiting to be opened that could never be sealed shut. Q, though—whether it was the sleep gripping him, or a testament to how safe he’d felt in the moment—revealed it had happened in a car accident in his youth. His father had been drink driving with him in the backseat. That was all James had needed to know about the man to know how he felt about him.

Now, though, formless ideas he’d had swirling in the back of his mind, things he only thought of in specific, quiet moments—what he was like as a person, how he’d treated Q—solidified in an instant with horrifying clarity.

“He said…?”

Q nods. It’s curt and robotic in a way James has never seen from him.

“Q, will you look at me?”

A long moment passes before Q moves. It’s incremental, a slight turn of his head until James is finally blessed with a partial view of his face. His cheek is splotchy, his eye, which is focused on the ground, is red-rimmed and teary.

It’s hard, but he waits, wanting Q to decide what happens next, even if it’s to turn away and leave. It’ll rip his heart right out from his chest, but he could never force Q—never hurt him like that.

A breath, then Q’s turned fully now, their gazes locking. If he hadn’t been someoneforced to quash sudden emotional reactions out with a cruel snuff, he would’ve grabbed hold of Q right then and there and shown him how much he meant to him. How he truly was the complete opposite of a burden to him in every sense of the word.

Thankfully, James doesn’t have to wait long. Q, shuffles forward, looking every bit like the lost child he is on the inside, and slots himself in James awaiting arms.

Slowly as he can, he winds his arms around him, gently placing one hand against his mid-back and the other over the scar on his shoulder, hoping he takes it as a sign of his devotion and promise to protect him, to never hurt him like the one man who was supposed to do everything but.

He feels a wetness against his shoulder, then Q’s shaking again.

“I’m sorry, Q. I’m so sorry.”

With every sob that leaves Q’s body, James holds him tighter and tighter, pressing chaste kiss after kiss to his mop of hair, shell of his ear, tear streaked cheek, furrowed brow. Each time he does, he tells him everything he loves about him: his mind, his ingenuity, his beauty, his kindness, and so much more.

At some point, James is able to maneuver them to their bed. Q’s still hiccuping, though to a lesser extent now, as he presses his face into James’ chest. All he can do is tell him over and over how much he loves him and how he’s never been a burden, that James would raze the world to keep Q safe and happy if that’s what it took. He’s lost track of how long they’ve been there, but his body—already desperate for sleep when he’d gotten home—begins to slip into unconsciousness as soon as Q’s breathing evens out and the tears dry.

“I love you, James.” Q’s voice is but a whisper. So quiet, in fact, James is sure Q hadn’t meant it for him to hear it. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

He doesn’t know what he’d do without Q either.

**Author's Note:**

> I said I'd add more to this series like... many many years ago and I finally did it! 😅 
> 
> Follow me @ tk-buckley.tumblr.com to poke me to write more or just to come say hi ;P


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